If It Kills Me
by amorito
Summary: Samira and Dastan have been friens ever since he came to the palace. They may have been born into the same social class, but Dastan was the Lucky One. Can Samira ever be a suitable wife for Dastan?
1. Ch 1: If I Get Caught

**Beta – **Indecisively Yours

**Disclaimer – **I don't own any of the characters (except for Samira and her family members). I just borrow them for my own purpose. Jason Mraz's song is fully his, I just happen to like it a lot.

**Rating –** Mainly T; there's a scene in chapter 4 that is a boarderline M.

**Summary – **Samira and Dastan have always been friends, but things change.

**A/N –** Prince of Persia inspired me quite a lot and this is the result – my first fic with this fandom! Can't say for sure if I write some more about Dastan or his brothers… They were very intriguing indeed ;)

This fic participates in a "Catch the mood" -challenge on a Finnish fic forum. I'm considering a translation as well! The song I used was Jason Mraz's "If It Kills Me (From Casa Nova Sessions)". Enjoy!

* * *

The sky of Persia was as exhausted from the heat as were the Persians: usually so freshly blue, but now faintly light blue was the sky, as if it had wanted to vanish from the spot. The harsh smell of camels and the sophisticated scent of the royal family members mixed in an unusual way; rough fabrics of the commoners and silk and linen of the upper class glued to the sweaty skins alike, regardless of their social status.

_Samira saw the boy when she was coming from the kitchen; he looked utterly bewildered on the back of a royal horse, the King's brother behind him. But somehow, Samira thought, he looked like he had born to be there, above everyone else. Samira saw he wasn't any better than her and her family, as poor and pathetic as anyone, but somehow he had managed to climb up the social staircase from bottom to top, in a split of second. Samira looked at the boy as he looked back at her; and at that moment, she got the feeling that she still shared something with the boy who was now to be called a Prince._

* * *

"I got it," whispered a triumphant voice somewhere nearby.

Samira looked around and saw the young prince – or as Samira liked to think of him, 'Prince of the Alleys'. Samira was in the garden, on the path leading to the houses of the higher servants, and thus to her home. Prince had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, spat out by darkness around them, his right hand squeezed into a tight fist.

"Show me," Samira whispered, partially skeptical, partially afraid that he might actually have done what she asked: go to the Queen's old room and get a blue sapphire from the jewelry box. But as Dastan's fist opened, Samira's legs became shaky. There it was; shining blue sapphire that seemed to twinkle even though there was barely any light to reflect.

"Well, take it!" Dastan prompted, holding his hand in front of Samira. She gulped and stood still; she had never actually thought he could do the task without getting caught. Now that he had, Samira realized that it wasn't only he who would get in trouble; Samira was also guilty.

"Take it!" he said again, now grasping her hand and placed the sapphire on her palm. As her fingers instinctively started to close around the diamond, two guards appeared from the darkness as unexpectedly as Dastan had a moment ago. One had a torch in his hand; the other, as Samira noticed horrified, had his hand on the handle of a large sword.

"Prince Dastan," said the torch-holder with surprise in his voice. "What are _you_ doing outside at this hour?"

The other guard, who seemed to be scarier than the other one (at least Samira thought so, or maybe it was just the fact he was the one sword in his hand) looked at Samira and asked:

"What do you have in your hand?"

Samira was about to cry, so horrified and shaky that she couldn't even form a thought. As the guards, Dastan, and even Samira herself watched (as if she wasn't the one moving her body), she opened her fingers and revealed the treasure she had in her childishness asked from the prince.

There was a moment of dull, amazed silence and then the sword-holder took a deep breath and said, with a raising voice:

"Does that happen to be the Queen's sapphire?"

As Samira tried to form a good answer, whether it would be truthful or not, she happened to gaze at Dastan. He looked back and reacted in a heartbeat.

"I gave it to her, it's my fault."

If the kitchen girl holding a precious diamond hadn't surprised the two men enough, this surely did. The sword-holding guard, who had gained his ability to speak back quicker, was also the quickest this second time.

"But why, Prince? What would she do with a jewel like that?" It was obvious that he was holding back his disbelief and anger, as this was the prince he was talking to now, not just a servant. Maybe it was even more frustrating to remember that the prince wasn't more royal than the seem-to-be-thief girl.

"She's my friend and I thought it was OK for me to give presents to my friends. It seems I was wrong, but don't blame her for this. It was my idea."

Samira's eyes were fixed on the ground due to the fear that lie might be exposed if the guards would look at her. She still dared to look at Dastan who held his chin up high and looked straight at the guards several feet taller than him.

"Very thoughtful of you, Prince," said the torch-holding guard friendly, as it seemed that his companion had lost his words this time. "But I don't think the King would appreciate the thought as much. I'm sure there are plenty of better things to choose from and to give to Your Highness's friend." Dastan nodded as if he had considered and approved this option. Without looking at Samira, he put his hand in front of the girl and closed it tightly as Samira placed the diamond back on his hand.

Before the prince left between the guards, Samira breathed: "Thank you." She wasn't sure if Dastan had heard her, but as he and the guards left, he turned back and smiled a little.

* * *

"Samira! Sam–"

"What? Dastan, I'm working!"

"But I have something to show you!"

"I'm sorry to break the news, but I have to work until sundown to get wherever I want; that 'wherever' is also quite limited area. I'm not the lucky one, you see."

Samira turned back from the kitchen window with a smirk. She still enjoyed this game of Dastan and her's: she called him "the lucky one", referring to his now royal status and remembering that she was just a servant to his family. Of course Samira wasn't in the very bottom of the social ladder: her father was a scribe of the King and her mother had been Queen's dresser – after the Queen's death she was now working at the Royal tailor. Samira's position would be higher later, but as for now she was working in the kitchen.

"Come on… I'll be the one responsible if you get caught," Dastan's voice came wheedling through the window. Samira grinned to herself and turned back again, face all neutral.

"Okay, Dastan, you'll take the blame," she said and hurried after her friend; he had already left since this was part of the act – Samira always said 'yes'.

They hurried through the dusty yard to the palace walls, up the stairs pass the guards and all the way to the watchtower.

"Look! Look!" Dastan cried, filled with enthusiasm. Samira looked; and it was quite impressive indeed. The streets were unusually full, the harbor crammed with luxurious ships and between the houses of Nasif there were strange, new palanquins.

"Wow," Samira said, blushing with embarrassment as she felt she should have said more. But Dastan didn't mind, he just sighed and thus agreed with his friend.

"And they all are coming just for… Garsiv?" Samira said after a moment of silence, lowering her voice with contempt as she pronounced the name of the boy she disliked so.

'Yeah, I know,' Dastan grinned. 'Quite a 13-year-old party for someone that annoying.' Samira dared to giggle now as there were no guards around: the only guard in the tower had discreetly moved down the stairs so as to give the young prince and his companion some privacy for a while. Then they sunk into a pleasant silence – a good indication of a deep, true friendship.

* * *

"Anybody home?"called Dastan's voice from the door. Samira yanked her regular clothes on as fast as she could; she didn't want to ruin the surprise for the evening.

"I'm here, Mom's outside," she said and stepped to the living room. Dastan covered the door pretty much wholly (Samira always wondered how it had been possible for Dastan to grow so tall and broad from such a skinny child, and in only eight years!) and thus the room was quite dim. The two windows didn't help the situation much.

"Well, come in there," Samira said grinning; he was a regular guest in her house, and even if he hadn't been, he probably could have come in without separate invitations. He was a prince and this was a house of a servant.

"I can't stay long. I was just looking for your mother and ask her if she could do something about this…" Dastan said and lifted quite embarrassed a cloth which appeared to be his shirt.

"Again, Dastan? How do you always succeed at this?" Samira said, shaking her head as she took the shirt and hold it in front of her examining the damages. There was a long, nasty rip that started from the shoulder and ended around the navel.

Dastan blushed but tried to cover it with anger. "Are you any better, always breaking things around the palace? If you weren't clumsy by nature, I'd say you were doing it on purpose."

"It's not the same and you know it. I'm supposed to be keeping the palace clean; all you have to do is keep _yourself_ clean and tidy, and obviously it's not working so well," Samira replied prickly. She was now one of the common maids whose chores included tidying, wardrobe checks, impromptu massages and other services for the princes and the king.

Dastan could have continued, but at that moment Samira's mother came in from the backyard.

"Your Highness," she said and bowed a little. "How can I help you today?"

"It's one of his shirts again," Samira snapped before Dastan himself could answer. He looked a bit hurt and was still trying to form his own sentences when Samira walked back to her room. "I hope you haven't torn your clothes for the party. I'm expecting to see you at your best," Samira said over her shoulder and smiled as she looked her wardrobe for the evening. She heard her mother and Dastan talking in the living room as she thought to herself: _I know I am._


	2. Ch 2: The Feeling Inside Keeps Building

"When… did you learn how to dance like that?" Dastan's voice was a bemusing mix of astonishment, fascination and idolizing. Samira couldn't do anything but smile even wider.

"I learned it while you were busy wrestling and fighting and tearing up your clothes." That silenced him, but not in a bad way; he grinned and pushed her a bit which meant her victory at this verbal battle.

It was Tus's twenty-first birthday; it was actually the same party that had started a month ago when he got married to his first wife, Afsaneh. Tus's birthday started the final week of the festivities. Samira had indeed practiced the dance as hard as Dastan practiced fighting: every day for several hours, during the last month. It was something extraordinary; Samira hadn't realized how much she enjoyed being the center of attention. Of course she wasn't alone; there were nine other girls competing for the attention. As she glanced around her and Dastan, there were several eyes fixed upon her body covered with jewelry and thin cloth.

"Well, well, isn't it our little kitchen girl pretending to be an entertainer," said a voice behind Samira. Samira's teeth pressed against each other; she had to try as hard as she could not to hit Garsiv with her hand heavy with rings and bangles.

"Prince," she said coldly as she turned to Dastan's big brother and bowed. Garsiv's smile was contemptuous.

"What were you trying to prove, little Sam? That you could be a suitable candidate for any man's bed now that you are all grown up?" he continued, looking up and down at Samira. Suddenly she felt herself a little too naked. But before she could throw an angry answer at Garsiv, Dastan interrupted.

"I think she was a brilliant dancer," he said firmly, looking straight at his brother. Garsiv just hemmed and decided to ignore her then as she couldn't offer an opportunity for a good fight. He turned to Dastan instead.

"Why are you hiding back here, brother? There are plenty of beauties just lining up for you," he said, grasping Dastan's shoulder into a tight grip. This was obviously trying to be an insult for Samira, but she decided to ignore it.

As Dastan looked embarrassed, she said coolly: "Yes, Dastan, I think you should go and enjoy what the party has to offer."

Garsiv looked somewhat surprised for a moment but soon smiled falsely at Samira. He started to walk, still holding Dastan's shoulder and Dastan couldn't do anything but follow. Samira looked at the backs of the two brothers and was quite disappointed; it seemed that Dastan hadn't even noticed her outfit and make up, which she had considered long and profound.

But that wasn't true; Dastan _had_ noticed indeed what Samira was wearing and how beautiful she was. He hadn't actually paid much of attention to Samira's appearance for a long time. Once or twice there had been moments when he had thought how long and slim her arms and fingers were; or how deeply brown her eyes were; or how flexible and strong her body was. He did tease Samira of the gap between her teeth every once in a while and called her curly, messy hair "an unexamined jungle", but those were the only comments of her appearance he had ever formed into words.

As he now gazed at her every now and then through the drunken crowd, he was even amazed by her gorgeousness: how perfectly did the turquoise of her clothes suit her! How soft her hair looked underneath the veil and dozens of golden chains; how deliciously tanned her skin looked in contrast with the bangles and rings.

"Dastan? Hello…" Dastan woke up from the trance and focused on Garsiv next to him. Garsiv already had three women around him; one rubbing his shoulders, one on his left fiddling his short hair, one on his lap feeding him grapes. Dastan faintly realized how odd he must look beside his popular brother. (One girl had tried to get Dastan's attention as well; his lack of concentration had banished her quite soon though to the arms of someone else.)

"Oh, I see," Garsiv said with a teasing tone. "Why don't you ask her here?" He looked at the corner where Samira was; but as Dastan turned to the same direction she had already vanished.

As Dastan rose from his divan, Garsiv grasped his wrist and said: "You could have anyone here, Dastan, why go after one?"

Dastan didn't say anything but took his brother's hand away and started to inch towards the direction Samira might've left. Garsiv didn't follow, obviously; he was busy eating the grapes the poor girl was trying to feed him.

Only at the door did Dastan see a flash of turquoise disappear behind the corner; he followed and called his friend's name.

"Samira!" She looked mildly surprised but smiled at the sight of her beloved friend.

"Aren't you supposed to be at the party?" she asked as she continued walking to the garden doors. Dastan caught her and walked beside her.

"I've had enough," he said plainly and she understood. The dark night was heavy of the flowers' scent and the chirp of crickets. Dastan stopped at the beginning of a path; it happened to be the very same place where he had brought a sapphire for her years ago.

"Listen, I…" he started, but couldn't say anything more. _This is quite hard_, he thought, _I doubt that Tus got his wife by stuttering at her… _Meanwhile, Samira looked awfully curious.

"Look…" Samira's eyebrows raised; he couldn't make her wait much longer.

"I think… you looked good tonight. I mean you _look._ I mean great. And you were fantastic dancer. And, I…"

Samira stepped a bit closer, smiling a little. He was already a bit scared, knowing her, she might give a sarcastic answer or tease him endlessly. But no.

"Thank you." That was all she said before she hugged him; a rare, but honest move from her.

"You know what?" Dastan said to her vanilla-scented hair. He had no intention to say it, but it came to him suddenly and it felt completely right. Samira hemmed a little in order to show her attention.

"I'd still get you that sapphire whenever you'd ask me to."

* * *

It is a commonly known fact that brothers compete. No matter how different they might be, how opposite their values are or how their tastes differ, they always seem to have same goals. And if the other one gets it, the other lets it go; one can even realize not to ever have wanted it really in the first place – it was a goal just because the other one wanted it too.

After Tus's birthday party, Garsiv started to show a sudden, strange attraction towards Samira. Or maybe it should be named "obsession". He seemed to appear wherever Samira was, from secret passageways to corridors right in front of her, bumped into her "by accident" and even followed her around with gleaming eyes and hungry smile on his lips.

This sudden change of mind made Samira nervous. She and Garsiv had always disliked each other – there was no particular reason why or at least Samira wasn't aware of such reason. She just thought Garsiv was arrogant and bossy, not at all like his older brother who seemed to be patient and "an old soul" or like Dastan who might be impulsive at his actions but was very thoughtful at heart. And for all these years Garsiv had shown no signs of affection towards her but had strengthened Samira's bad thoughts by his visible contempt and belittling.

Weeks passed, and Samira was getting more and more anxious trying to do her usual chores while running away from Garsiv's approaches. Then, one windy day that was a sign of an upcoming sand storm, Samira failed in her escape. She was bringing clean towels to one of the guest bedrooms when she felt hands pressing her arms against her sides. Hot breath and the beard scratching her neck revealed it to be Garsiv.

"Stop it," she demanded, hoping that the firm tone would cover her fear.

"I can't stop if I haven't started yet," Garsiv whispered hoarsely and started to pull Samira back, to her horror towards the bed. As he threw her on her back on the bed, she forgot her fear and started to gather anger.

"I'll scream, Garsiv," she said with fiery eyes.

"Good, I happen to like it," he just said and locked her between his body and the bed. But Samira fought back; she slapped him, punched him, kicked and wriggled. Finally, one scratch hit him in the eye and he cringed back so that Samira could push him further and escape. She was at door and in the hallway before Garsiv could react.

He didn't come after her, but yelled across the hallway: "You can't run from me forever, Samira! One day I will get you."

Samira turned from a corner, ran along another hallway, then through a secret door, along another corridor, turned again and ran into someone.

"Samira? What are you… are you _crying_?"

It took a second for Samira to realize she had run right into the arms of Dastan. And now, as he said it, she realized that her face was indeed wet with tears. She couldn't say anything; she was so relieved that it was him that she threw herself against his chest and cried more silent tears. Dastan was clearly puzzled but didn't say a thing; he just held her still and let her relax a bit.

"What is it?" he asked then as Samira's tears seemed to have ended. He led hear into a silent arbor that was seldom used; he sat on the bench and pulled Samira next to him. As she explained what Garsiv had done, Dastan's face got tenser with every sentence. By the end of her story, Dastan looked so angry that Samira was afraid that he might be angry at _her_.

"He shouldn't have done that," Dastan said finally, voice quivering with emotion.

"I'm fine, really," Samira said, quite truthfully; she felt so much better now that she was safe with Dastan who seemed to be on her side. It wasn't an axiom; he could've said something like "_Don't you mind, he's just like that"_ or "_He does that to all maids, and most of the time they are quite pleased"_.

"I will speak to him," Dastan said and got up. "Can you get home safely from here?"

"Yes, but…" Samira didn't have time to say anything more; Dastan had already left the arbor leaving behind him some spinning dust and a confused girl. Samira headed home slowly; she wasn't sure had she made things worse by telling Dastan.


	3. Ch 3: I'd Ask You To Hold My Heart

Dastan found Garsiv alone from the stables; the older brother was looking rather happy with himself, although there was a nasty red scratch that stretched from his eyebrow to the side of his nose.

"What happened between you and Samira?" asked Dastan without any greetings. He surprised himself when he heard how angry he sounded; of course Garsiv had done wrong, but his anger felt more personal than usual. Garsiv seemed rather bored than surprised by his brother's voice.

"Oh Dastan, it was _nothing_. I just wanted to test if she is as fiery as she acts."

"Keep your hands off her!" Dastan said, voice rising by every word. _What is this_, he thought to himself, _why am I so upset? It's really not my business, they are both adults and…_

"Don't you say to me what to do or what not to do!" Garsiv became provoked. "If you want her, make your move! It's so obvious that you want her but if you can't do anything about it, then let better men do it for you. And it's not like she is untouchable anymore; all maids are just common whores!"

Dastan reacted instinctively; he jumped towards his brother, without any weapons but his fists. Garsiv had a whip in his hand; he slashed it and hit Dastan right in the ear and stepped aside. Dastan hit the floor, ear gushing blood all over the hays on the stable floor.

Garsiv stood beside Dastan, looking down at him victory gleaming in his eyes.

"Don't get too attached to a servant girl. You know you are too good for them," Garsiv said and walked away from the stable. As Dastan was alone, he tried to stop the bleeding while thinking of Garsiv's words.

* * *

_Actually, it _was_ quite obvious_, Dastan thought later that night. He couldn't sleep; all he could do was sit on his bed and run his fingers through his hair all over again. _Funny thing is that everyone else seems to have seen it before I did._

When Garsiv had said that Dastan's affection towards Samira was obvious, Dastan started to think about it seriously. They had known each other for ten years, had developed a deep friendship and a close bond. He had grown beside her and thus a band had grown in front of his eyes – he hadn't seen Samira's beauty in its fullest.

Hours went by. The pale crescent faded away but Dastan was still awake. Finally, when the shy sunlight tickled his face pulling him back from his thoughts, he got up. He admitted to himself that he might actually have loved Samira since the very beginning; if not all the time, then at least for quite some time now. _Only problem is_, he thought as he got dressed, _I don't have any idea how to tell her that or if it is even wise to say anything._ He left his room frustrated and happened to gaze at the picture of the late Queen. His tired brains didn't realize at that moment, but an idea had started to form in his head.

* * *

If Garsiv had really felt like he won something back at the stables, he surely didn't feel like that in the night. In fact, he was ashamed already when he turned his back on his brother; but companions named Pride and Shame walked him away and he couldn't turn back.

Garsiv wasn't proud of what he did to Samira either; he was just used to maids and other girls doing exactly what he wanted. He was also angry at Samira's resentment towards him; he was jealous that she and Dastan obviously shared something deeper than Garsiv had ever experienced; he was tired of shoving Dastan forward and had decided to take action himself. Garsiv changed position on his bed and thought that at least his last sentence to Dastan had been right; they _were_ too good for maids.

* * *

Samira hadn't seen Dastan since the day Garsiv attacked her, almost a week ago. She was getting nervous day by day; she still wasn't sure why Dastan had got so upset and why he hadn't confronted her ever since. Had Dastan actually been angry at Garsiv? And if he had, had Garsiv explained the situation so well that Dastan was now angry at Samira? Dastan seemed to have disappeared from the palace; Samira had seen him only once, when he had ridden to the town as fast as he had chasers after him.

Finally she lost her patience and turned to Bis. He must have something in his knowledge that might explain Dastan's behavior! She found Bis after fight rehearsals and asked him to walk with her.

"Have you noticed anything strange in Dastan?" Samira started apprehensively, as she didn't know how much Bis knew about her, Dastan and Garsiv.

"Like what?" asked Bis with a small smile on his lips. He took a sip of water from a vase Samira had brought him.

"He hasn't said anything to me in weeks, has he said anything that might show why?" Samira proceeded.

"Look, he has a lot on his mind right now. Don't worry, he's not mad at you," Bis continued quickly when Samira's expression changed from worried to horrified. "You mean the world to him."

Samira blushed after Bis's last words but wasn't entirely sure why. It was also relief to hear Dastan wasn't angry but otherwise Bis hadn't been too helpful. Samira missed Dastan so much it hurt. Quite odd really; Dastan had been away for long periods at a time before, but never had Samira missed him so. Now he wasn't even away! Still she longed to see him, graved his presence and missed his touch. If it had been anyone else but Dastan, she even might have thought that this was… _No, of course it can't be_, Samira said to herself. _I have always loved Dastan, why would I suddenly be IN love with him? This has got to be something else._

_

* * *

_

Finally, twelve nights after their last conversation, the two met again. Samira was walking slowly from the palace to home, as she had done lately; she walked so slowly she almost got cold even in the steamy nights of Persia. Or maybe her chills came from the painful waiting of something she didn't quite recognize?

"Wait," said a voice behind her, and she didn't even flinch, as if it had been planned. She just turned and saw her friend and at the sight of him Samira's heart punched harder than normally.

"Hi," she whispered and pulled the fabric around her shoulders closer to her skin. Orchids spread their tantalizing scent around them. It was dark since the moon had hidden her face.

"'Sorry' would be nice," she said then, as Dastan didn't say anything but just looked at her. His gaze was serious, but there was such a warmth in his eyes that it melted Samira's irritation, if there even were any.

"Believe me, I am," he said. They had somehow inched closer each other; there was only a yard between them, maybe less.

"I have something for you," Dastan said then. Only then did Samira notice he clearly had something in his fist. Samira put her hand open in front of Dastan and closed her eyes. She felt warm, roughened fingers on her palm and something hard and light was left in her hand. As she opened her eyes, she had to stare her palm for a moment. When she realized that it was what it was, she still couldn't say anything.

"It's actually yours, not like the one ten years ago, and that time you asked for it," Dastan said, smiling a little, looking at Samira, searching for a sign of approval. Because approval was certainly needed. On Samira's hand laid an unbelievably pretty, small, silver-lined ruby, in the shape of a heart. "I think it is OK for me to give presents to my friends." When Samira heard those same words from Dastan as so many years ago, her eyes swelled with tears.

"I… can't accept this," Samira whispered, quite shocked.

"Yes you can," Dastan said calmly. "Please keep it, because I don't think we can be friends anymore." More scared than ever, Samira lifted her eyes up from the ruby and looked at Dastan through her tears. Oddly enough, he was just smiling.

"You know what I just did?" he whispered, getting now so close that his forehead pressed against Samira's. "I asked you to keep my heart." For a moment they just stood there, breathing heavy with emotion, forehead to forehead, Samira's open hand between them. Finally Samira closed the ruby heart in her fist, touched his lips gently with her own and answered:

"I will take good care of it."

* * *

After that Samira and Dastan's relationship turned into shy, testing thing that might be called love. Their meetings changed from teasing and laughing into humming, meaningful silences that were seasoned with silly smiles and soft kisses. Those meetings were carefully arranged far away from the eyes of other people. Dastan explained rather embarrassed why the ruby was so small; he was afraid that if someone might find the ruby from Samira, and then she would be accused of theft. Samira's family owned many valuable things of course, but since this jewel was rare and cut by court's own goldsmith, it would indeed have seemed suspicious. And Samira would have accepted grain of sand from him. The most important thing was that it was a gift from someone she loved.

Dastan also started to act as if he had been Samira's bodyguard; he made sure no one harassed her in any way, physically or verbally. When he realized it seemed odd that he acted so only towards Samira, he started to oppose any harassment towards the maids of the palace.

Of course it was hard to keep their deepened relationship as a secret; Bis knew naturally since Dastan had told him even before Samira got her ruby, but Garsiv was the next to find out. He held his anger for some time before he revealed the secret – during one dinner.

"Dastan, you have been quite absent-minded lately! It's almost like you're in love," Garsiv started a conversation during a silent moment. Dastan almost choked on his wine; he gagged and when he finally stopped coughing, Garsiv was explaining his 'suspicions' to his father, uncle and brother. They all reacted much alike, although with different arguments.

"Well, it's nice to hear my little brother has also joined the men's guild," said Tus smiling and winked at Dastan. "We all have to have our first experience with a maid."

"I think we can all remember that first one!" continued the King; all the men laughed except for Dastan.

"I beg to differ. It's not like that," Dastan said politely as a servant filled his wine glass.

"What is it then? _Love_?" Garsiv attacked and grinned victoriously as his father and uncle laughed at his words.

"What if it is? It's not like the only good and righteous people are amongst the rich," Dastan said bravely.

"Well, my boy," the king said, with a belittling tone, "the maids might be a punch of fun for a while but they wouldn't be good wives."

"On what grounds? Maids get married as well, and they wouldn't if they weren't suitable wives!" Dastan opposed, voice rising a bit. His father looked a bit surprised, since Dastan was usually polite and respectful.

"Of course they make good wives for their own cast, but royal blood must be kept pure. It always has."

"But there are no rules for that, is there? A man can fall in love with anyone, no matter of their origins…" Dastan tried.

"It's the arrogance and childishness of the young, brother," said Nizam to the king, covering Dastan's objection under his big voice. "They mix lust with love; they get confused because of the warmth of laps and sighs from beautiful lips." Laughter echoed once again around the table. Dastan felt himself defeated. There seemed to be no way to convince them that he really loved Samira, more than anyone else.


	4. Ch4: A Kind Much Closer Than Friends Use

Dastan didn't mention this incident to Samira; he didn't want to dispirit her now as she looked so overwhelmingly happy. He was sure he could think of something to change his family's mind; if not his brothers', then at least his father's. But for now he was just happy to be with Samira and not think of the future. As it later turned out, he should have thought about it.

Samira had also a similar secret: her parents had announced, seemingly joyful, that they were going to find Samira a husband. When they noticed how shocked Samira was, they became upset.

"There are several good, wealthy men who would love to marry you," said Samira's father, clearly stunned of his daughter's attitude.

"It is about time for you to get married, young woman!" continued Samira's mother with a frown. "It's never too early for love." _Got that right, Mom_, Samira thought to herself and kept her eyes on a plate. They were having dinner as well, by chance at the same time as the royal family back at the palace. But unlike Dastan, Samira didn't have siblings who would have given away why Samira was so against the idea of getting married. Not against marriage itself; more like who she was going to marry. There was only one option in Samira's mind.

"What if I… don't want just anyone?" Samira asked bravely. She lifted her eyes to her parents: both looked surprised, her father more happily way, her mother rather suspicious.

"Do you have an option in mind, then?" asked her father then, looking encouraging. But before Samira could answer, her mother said feisty:

"No kitchen boys or soldiers for you, Samira! Your father and I looked up someone who is better than those boys." Samira kept quiet and didn't dare to say that her choice was probably way better than anyone they could ever find for her.

* * *

A month passed, then another. For Dastan's birthday Samira arranged a small picnic with prunes, dates and grapes which she let Dastan catch between her fingers. Finally they fell asleep on each other's arms and slept under the palm trees of the oasis through the hottest hours of the day.

Dastan's absence was noticed in the palace of course; he only explained he had been riding the whole time. When Samira's parents asked her where she had been, also aware of prince Dastan's weird disappearance, she said elusively that she had been in the palace whole day, and that's when their suspicions arose. Samira was still so lost in her sweet thoughts that she didn't notice her parents' worried expressions.

Being the king's scribe, Samira's father had regular contacts with the king. After a long and worried discussion with his wife, Samira's father decided to talk with the king; he was to bring some receipts and contracts to the king to read, and decided it could be a good opportunity to have a discussion; not like a scribe to his master but as a father to another.

And so he did; when the king had read everything Samira's father had brought him, he asked if the scribe had anything else to inform. It was quite a surprise for the king and his brother to hear what the scribe had to say; not anything of the contracts made or letters sent, but of the scribe's daughter and the youngest of the princes. It also happened that Garsiv was just outside the door, eavesdropping, eyes gleaming with jealousy and anger. It appeared that Dastan hadn't abandoned Samira and thus there was no way of Garsiv getting her. Garsiv might not be able to get a husband for Samira, but at least he could break the couple apart.

* * *

Samira waited for Dastan in his room, eyes red and puffed up after crying so much; her parents had informed her that she was to leave the palace in a month – the king was now cooperating with Samira's parents in order to find her a husband and those searches would not last longer than a month. By that time there would be several options for Samira's parents to choose from; Samira had no right to involve in the choosing process since she had been so reckless. Otherwise especially Samira's kind father would have given Samira this rare right, but now even he was mad.

When Dastan finally arrived, he wasn't any happier than she. His father had only said that he should leave Samira as soon as possible. When Dastan had asked a reason for this, he just said: 'Just because I say so. She's not suitable for you.' Dastan blamed Garsiv for this; who else could have been so bitter, who else could have known of Samira and him?

"My father told me to leave you," Dastan said quietly as he shut the door behind him. Samira had stopped crying about five minutes earlier and now the tears flowed down her cheeks again.

"Don't worry, I won't," he said when he sat next to Samira on his bed. He closed her in embrace and held her until she stopped sobbing. "It must have been Garsiv," he murmured then. Samira didn't dare to say it wasn't true; Samira's parents had told her also that they already knew about her and Dastan, and to Samira's astonishment they had come to that conclusion all by themselves.

"I will do whatever it takes to keep you," Dastan said and looked into Samira's tearful eyes. "I will show Garsiv that this is for real."

Samira couldn't hear any more of this; she silenced Dastan's false beliefs of his brothers with a kiss. She wouldn't dare to stop and Dastan wasn't eager to stop either; soon they lay on the bed, and carefully, as if silently asking before acting, they stripped each other down. As Dastan touched Samira's bare breast, she suppressed her worries; as he inched himself inside Samira, she hoped that the time would stop; as he pushed, pushed, pushed his name from Samira's lips, she forgot the whole situation; and as he finally collapsed on top of her and Samira kissed his sweaty forehead, she thought that they could last together indefinitely.

* * *

Three weeks everything stayed normal; all that time Samira was confident that Dastan could think of something to prevent Samira's marriage. During those weeks Samira got still a chance to meet the husband candidates; maybe it was because of his father's kind heart. One young, rich merchant was quite handsome, but Samira spat at his feet; one big-bellied scribe ran from Samira's home after Samira pretended to be crazy by pulling her hair, rocking back and forth, glancing the walls and shrieking every now and then.

But suddenly Samira's mother said, without looking at her daughter, that a proper husband had finally been found; he was 40-year-old sheik who had no other wives yet; he had mainly been traveling and learning from another cultures. This time Samira had no opportunity to meet him before the wedding: the king and Samira's parents didn't want any turn-outs anymore. Samira's head was completely blank; she ran from her home towards the palace, and for once no one tried to stop her.

Samira saw Dastan coming towards her, and when she saw his face, she knew that he had heard the news too. They threw their arms around each other and stood still for minutes not knowing what to say.

Finally they withdrew and Dastan said: "I will think of something, it can't happen like this. We have time."

"Time? You _had_ time for weeks! If she had told you in time you _may_ have had time!" Garsiv came gushing towards the two and Samira knew it would lead to nothing good.

"What?" Dastan turned to his brother, looking puzzled. Garsiv was now next to them; he looked from one to the other, nostrils dilated of anger.

"So you're little lover didn't tell that she knew about this? She heard it weeks ago; she knew she was to leave the palace in a month!" Garsiv shouted to Dastan, eyes at Samira. Then he turned wholly to Samira, lowering his voice with hatred.

"Were you honestly thinking that no man could be found for you? That you could be stuck here forever with Dastan as your toy? That your little tricks you did to the candidates would turn everyone away? I would never have let you meet them; I would've just sent you away as quickly as possible."

"You sneaky devil! You heard my father and the king talking! It's none of your business!" Samira spat at Garsiv. Garsiv could have continued the fight, but Dastan interjected the two.

"You knew about this? You met men you knew to be your suitors?" he asked Samira as Garsiv looked victorious; he knew that Samira was in trouble now.

"Yes, but it doesn't matter! I thought…" Samira couldn't end her sentence; she was scared how angry Dastan's face suddenly was.

"'Doesn't matter'? I could have taken you into hiding; I could have run away with you! But you just kept quiet?"

"I didn't want to hurt you, I thought everything would work out fine," Samira said, tears in her eyes again.

"How could you possibly think like that? I can't believe this," said Dastan with awful hint of contempt in his voice.

"Please, Dastan, help me! I love you, don't send me away," Samira begged and took a step closer to him. To her horror Dastan backed away. Samira saw an excruciating mix of sadness, pain, anger and disappointment on Dastan's face.

"No. Nothing will work out fine," he said plainly. He turned and walked back towards the palace, Garsiv beside him.

"Dastan! Dastan!" Samira screamed, but he didn't turn. She cried, screamed and shouted until she fell to her knees; she continued screaming, but without words. She spilled her agony and frustration on the ground until someone came, lifted her up and helped her home. In some part of her brains she thought and hoped it would be Dastan, but no; it was a guard who reacted first on this disturbance of peace.

The next day Samira was sent away; a large carriage, pulled by four white horses came to the yard. Two men helped Samira's small property to the carriage and finally lifted her inside; she couldn't herself move a muscle. Only her eyes moved as she looked back at the palace, where she saw no sign of Dastan or anyone from his family. She awoke a bit when she heard her name; Bis, outside the carriage, stopped it and looked inside.

"Sam…"

For a moment Samira sat still and didn't look at Bis, the last person she saw from the palace that had been her home throughout her life. Then she took a piece of paper, some ink and a quill and wrote something on it.

"Give this to him," she said emotionless, without looking at Bis while handing the paper. As the carriage moved again, Bis was left alone on the yard, staring after the girl he would never see again.

Bis did as Samira asked; he left the note on Dastan's bed minutes after Samira had left the palace. Dastan hadn't slept on his bed, and Bis didn't know where he was; unfortunately Dastan didn't return to his room before a maid came to clean the place and threw away the wrinkly piece of paper that she didn't even examine more closely. There wasn't much though; only three sentences, surprisingly tidily written when remembered how shocked the writer had been:

_I still have your Heart. Please come to get me. Until then I will take care of it._

_S_


	5. Ch 5: I Will Find A Way To You

_Dear Dastan,_

_I'm still so sorry for not telling you anything. I hope your anger has faded a bit, and I hope you got my note from Bis. I miss you; at least I'd like a friend here. The sheik is rarely here, he was at first but I guess I was too depressing for him so he left to his journeys. He didn't suspect anything; piece of lamb liver inside me made the sheets bloody on our wedding night. You probably wouldn't want to hear this, but I had no choice._

_

* * *

_

_Dear Dastan,_

_I just had my first son. He was born a bit early to be the sheik's, and a bit late to be yours. In my opinion he looks like you. The least I could do was to name him after you. He reminds me of you, whoever his father may be._

_

* * *

_

_Dear Dastan,_

_only three months old, my baby boy has passed on to the care of my ancestors. I guess I'm not meant to be with any Dastan there is. He gave me comfort in my loneliness though; now I miss you even more. The sheik is mad at me but he tries to cover it – he thinks I didn't take care of the boy enough. I can see it in his eyes. I think I must submit to the fact that he tries to get another heir._

_

* * *

_

_Dear Dastan,_

_My servants think I should look more beautiful so that my husband visits me in my palace more often. I do as they say and put on some make up – quite a lot actually. I wonder if you would recognize me if you came to get me. I don't think you got my note though; you would have replied, wouldn't you? Maybe it's for the best that you won't hear anything of me. That's why I won't ever send these letters to you. I still hope you forgive though._

_

* * *

_

_Dear Dastan,_

_I just realized that you probably have a wife by now; it's been years already since we last saw each other. Or has it? I can't remember; my memory has been rather ill lately. I look sick as well, and the layer of make up on my face gets thicker and thicker. I have aged years since we parted; maybe it was years ago indeed. But I'm being repetitive. I just still hope you could come and get me. I hope you could also consider taking my two daughters with us; they could work in the kitchen just like I did, they are seven and six years old. I could be a servant of you and your wife; it would be enough just to be around you._

* * *

_Dear Dastan,_

_I'm sitting in my room, in the middle of shatters. I have these strange rage fits of rage; maybe it's because of my sleeping problems or headaches. I think I'm going insane, and so thinks my husband. He has other wives already and he keeps me locked in here. I have an own palace, can you believe? Now we both are lucky ones, aren't we? Truthfully, back in your palace, I was lucky one as well; I just didn't know it then. I have told my daughters about you. They thought it was romantic but I'm not sure if they realized it was a true story! Maybe they can't picture their mother in a romantic situation? In my eyes they look like you, sometimes I wonder if they could be yours, somehow._

_My anger has faded, as always when I think of you._

_

* * *

_

_Dear Dastan,_

_I'm sick yet again. My feet won't work, I keep falling over and I can barely see. The sun is high but for me it's like the darkest hour of night. I feel like I'm dying, but I'd still like to see you. I wonder where you are, are you well, have you aged. It's hard to think of you as an old man; of course, it's not like you ARE an old man now, it must be only 15 years or so since we last saw each other._

_I always hoped we could grow old together, side by side, like when we were children. I have only one memory left from the palace where I lived as a child; a heart-shaped ruby, so beautiful and small. Did I get it from you when we were young? I thought it was a blue sapphire, way bigger than this. Well, I can't remember the details but I know this ruby is important somehow; I keep it next to my heart. It reminds me of you; I'm not letting you go._

_

* * *

_

**A/N:** I decided it would be best to clear things out a bit; Samira, as many women in the past, suffered from a lead poisoning that lead to her death. Samira's continuous and increasing use of make up got her sick and caused her nasty symptoms including fatigue, fits of rage, headaches, paralysis, weakened eye sight and memory problems.


End file.
